


Light From the Balcony

by onaswiftlytiltingplanet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onaswiftlytiltingplanet/pseuds/onaswiftlytiltingplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt thing: "‘I had a party last night and you woke up on my couch I don’t know who you are’ AU" (from this tumblr post: http://auseverywhere.tumblr.com/post/100682696387/shit-i-sent-that-i-like-you-text-to-the-wrong ).</p>
<p>Grantaire wakes up after a party in his apartment and finds he isn't as alone as he'd hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light From the Balcony

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written. It got ridiculously long, and it hasn't been edited, so if you spot any problems, or have any feedback, please please please let me know! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, if they're deserved. I don't know if I'll be writing any more. I think it might depend on if I get any positive feedback from people that read it (if anyone reads it). I hope you enjoy it!

“Shit, fuck!”

Grantaire dropped his head to the floor, since his last attempt at standing resulted in a throbbing elbow. Out of his squinted eyes, he could see a bruise already starting to form. He groaned, rolling onto his back, other arm thrown over his face.

“Fuck.”

Grantaire remained lying on the ground, and apparently the pounding in his head rendered him incapable of speaking in anything but expletives.

He gradually became aware of the other parts of his body, as the pounding sensation became merely a light tap against his skull. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was black, that is until he panicked, jolted upright, slamming his wrist into the ground, thereby reminding himself that he could see just fine. His arm had been blocking the light coming in through the door to the balcony. The light did bring back some of that headache, though.

“God, I am so fucked.”

The taste in his mouth was slightly reminiscent of Satan’s shit, and all Grantaire could think of was brushing his teeth, or perhaps vomiting. Both required him to go to the bathroom. He propped himself up on his knees and looked over his bed, toward the bathroom door. Given his disastrous attempt at walking like a human before, he resigned himself to his spot on the floor.

His bladder however, was having none of it, and Grantaire really couldn’t subject himself to the shame of pissing himself on his bedroom floor. Grabbing the mattress, he worked his way up to his feet, using his bed as a kind of handrail the whole way around. Somehow he managed the last few, unassisted steps without falling flat on his face.

He went right to the toilet to do his business, and kept his eyes down as he washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth. He didn’t even want to think about what he looked like right now.

Feeling slightly more steady on his feet, he padded across his room to step out onto the balcony. It’s ridiculously narrow: only about one and a half steps deep, but all he needed was the fresh air, nothing fancy.

It was cold out. Too cold for September, especially for someone wearing only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. The wind whipping his curls into his mouth and eyes wasn’t really helping any, but he didn’t feel quite so sick, so Grantaire supposes the air did its job, and this was its way of telling him to get the fuck back inside.

And who was he to argue with nature?

Grantaire went inside through the living room door, following the siren’s call of his coffee machine. Unfortunately, while on his way to the kitchen, his tunnel vision made him completely miss the fact that he was a few steps too far to the left, so his foot caught under the edge of the couch, nearly toppling him right over the back. He caught himself on the top of the seats, and then caught himself staring down at a disheveled mop of blond curls.

And then the body attached to those blonde curls.

“Okay, what the actual fuck.”

Grantaire thought he had made it perfectly clear to Courfeyrac that he could use his apartment for his party if, and only if, Courf came over the next day to help clean up, and if everyone was cleared out by morning. He was really not in the mood to deal with random ass stragglers that have the nerve to pass out on the couch of someone they don’t even know.

He was about to wake Blondie up and tell him this, but at that moment, said blond person decided it would be a good time to roll over with a little grumble, far too reminiscent of a sleeping puppy.

And it wasn’t adorable. It absolutely wasn’t.

Grantaire just stood there, leaning against the back of the couch, looking down at this peaceful vision in red. A sleeping Adonis—no Apollo, with the rays of the sun outside highlighting the creases indented into his face from the folds of the couch, and his curls stuck in his open mouth, and immediately his fingers were itching for a pen.

_No, charcoal, not ink. A pen wouldn’t show the softness of his hair. It’d have to be charcoal…but that wouldn’t capture his glow…watercolors then…soft and bright…_

He realized that he had been looming over this guy he’d never met before, for at least a full minute, and that’s way too creepy, even for Grantaire. So instead of getting a sketchbook out, he made his way over to make himself some coffee, like he originally intended.

When measuring out the water he caught himself thinking, _I wonder if Apollo likes coffee. Maybe he’s a tea drinker,_ and then shook the thought out of his head. But if he put an extra serving of water in the pot, no one had to know.

He poured a cup for himself, no cream, ridiculous amounts of sugar, and a bit of brandy, and walked into the living room again. He sat on the coffee table across from the blond guy, and couldn’t help but stare at him for another couple seconds, before lightly shaking him awake.

And if he thought the man was adorable—which he didn’t—when he was asleep, it was nothing compared to the whimper and the squinty, disgruntled look on his face as he woke up.

“Looks like the sun rose without you today, Apollo,” said Grantaire, one eyebrow raised in bemusement. All his irritation at having an uninvited guest had long since disappeared.

For a moment, blond guy looked completely and utterly lost, and then he realized where he was.

“Those bastards!” he shouted, waking up completely.

Grantaire suddenly felt much more justified in dubbing the man “Apollo,” because all softness flew out the window as this man leapt up in a righteous fury. All Grantaire could do was sit there as he got worked up, and after a few seconds of staring on, mesmerized, did he realize Apollo was still talking.

“—just left me here. They knew I didn’t want to come anyway!” All the while, he was digging in his pockets, and then pulled out his phone, presumably calling one of “those bastards.”

“I’m going to murder Courfeyrac." The blond man paused in his ranting and turned to Grantaire. "What the fuck did you call me?”

Grantaire realized he was actually being addressed now, by the god, but before he could answer, whoever Apollo was calling, answered.

“God damn it, Courf. You left me at the party. Yes. You did. Get your ass back to--” he paused in his speech, turned to Grantaire, and said, “What’s your name?”

Incredulously, he responded, “Grantaire, and you are?”

Blondie looked down at him, where he was still seated cross-legged on the coffee table, and Grantaire nearly dropped his mug, when he saw those dark blue eyes. “Enjolras.”

And Grantaire had a real name to go with that barely real face.

Enjolras’ hand went back up to his ear, and he said, “You need to come back to Grantaire’s apartment and get me. Oh, you are? Well what am I supposed to do until then? You took them from me. I’ve already imposed enough, because of you.” He sat back down on the couch, looking defeated, “Alright, fine. Yeah, see you then.”

Grantaire hadn’t stopped staring at the man the entire time he was on the phone.

After a moment of silence, the brunet says, “You know, I could have told you Courf was coming by, later. You didn’t need to give him a heart attack.”

Enjolras gave him a withering look, and once again, Grantaire was hit by the full force of those eyes on him. How had he not noticed him at the party last night? His apartment isn’t exactly big.

Enjolras checked the time and said, “He won’t be here for nearly another hour.”

“I know. I told him when to get here.”

“You can’t talk to him and tell him to get here earlier?”

Grantaire shook his head, laughing at the man’s bluntness, and took a sip of coffee, which Enjolras eyed, hungrily.

Grantaire raised his eyebrow and beckoned Enjolras to follow him to the kitchen, where the rest of the coffee was still warm in the pot. He poured it into a mug, and said “I don’t know what you take in it, but there’s milk in the fridge, and the sugar’s right here.”

When he handed the mug to Enjolras, he all but downed half the thing in one go.

“I didn’t peg you for a black coffee drinker.”

Enjolras looked at him over the mug, unimpressed, taking another gulp before replying, “You can’t judge a person’s taste just by looking at them.”

To which Grantaire smirked and said, “Well, you just don’t look like you’d be into the bitter types.”

Enjolras just looked at him, confused, before going to sit back on the couch in the living room, where Grantaire followed.

When Grantaire sat down, he actually took in the mess around him. There were red plastic cups, cans, bottles, paper plates, and for some reason, glitter, everywhere. _Only Courfeyrac_ , he thought. He glanced at Enjolras, sitting next to him, out of the corner of his eye. He was tapping furiously away at his phone.

He jolted when Grantaire leaned against him and said, in his best childlike impression, “Whatcha doin’?”

He moved away from Grantaire as best he could and said, “Work,” in an even tone, which left no room for any more interruptions.

However, Grantaire loves a good challenge, and interrupted again, by saying, “You do realize it’s a Sunday, right? No one works on Sundays.”

“Well, I do.”

Grantaire looked at the man, incredulously, and said, "You really don’t seem like the partying type. What were you even doing here last night?”

Enjolras sighed, still not quite resigned to not getting any of his work done, even if it was just answering emails, but he still replied and said, “I’m not. The partying type that is. Courf made me come, so I brought some work with me and sat on the balcony to get some of it done, so it wouldn’t be a complete waste of my time.”

_Well that explains why I didn’t see him._ Grantaire had stayed inside all night. He didn’t realize anyone had gone out to the balcony. He figured anyone that tried would have been so drunk that they'd've stepped out too far and fallen over the rail.

Enjolras put his tongue in his cheek--which did not make Grantaire think inappropriate things, no sir—and continued, “But Courfeyrac found me, stole my files, and gave them to Combeferre. That’s my roommate, I don’t know if you’ve met him. I’m assuming ‘Ferre took them with him when he left. He’s not so irresponsible as to forget them or leave them somewhere.”

“What, like he did to you?” It was too good of an opportunity for Grantaire to miss.

He was expecting some kind of angry retort, but was surprised when the corners of Enjolras’ mouth quirked up and he said, “Point taken.”

They shared a small smile before Grantaire said, “How did they manage to forget you, anyway? How drunk must all of you have been?”

The blond just rolled his eyes and said, “I have no idea. I didn’t drink anything. I just fell asleep. I don’t know how they forgot me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened and he said, “You just…fell asleep in the middle of that party? And there was no alcohol involved? You’re so vanilla.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows practically flew to his hairline, “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Apollo. I just can’t believe you fell asleep on my couch in the middle of everything.”

Enjolras looked self-conscious all of a sudden, before saying “Well…I was tired. I had a long day.”

“Working?” Grantaire asked, amused.

“Yes, I was working.”

“On a Saturday.”

“Yes, Grantaire, I was working on a Saturday!”

That was the first time Enjolras had said his name, directed at him. And the power of that, and the eyes, and the hair, and just the whole fucking face was almost enough to make him do something really stupid. But only almost, because at that moment, when his dick decided it would be a nice time to show some interest, he realized that besides his t-shirt, he was only wearing boxers.

_Fuck_.

Luckily, Enjolras didn’t seem to notice, so he just muttered, “I’ll be right back,” and he rushed to his room to put on real pants.

_Just my luck,_ he thought, as he rummaged around for a clean pair of jeans. _Why did the hottest guy I’ve ever seen have to be the one to get stuck in my apartment?_

The only clean pair of paints he could find were splattered with paint, _But hey, at least they don’t smell,_ so his wrestled his way into them.

_Ah. That’s why I never wear these._ They were two sizes too small, and he felt like they’d rip at the slightest movement. But if he kept looking for another suitable pair, he’d be in his room for a suspiciously long amount of time.

“Ugh, whatever,” he said, walking back out to the living room. Enjolras was still tapping away on his phone, and it was just really unfair how gorgeous he looked, doing such a benign task.

He really needed something to keep his hands busy, otherwise, he might just wrap his fingers into those golden curls and tug, just to hear what kind of sounds will come out of the blonde’s mouth.

He crossed the room and grabbed his sketchbook and some pencils from the kitchen counter, and he completely missed Enjolras glancing up, his eyes going wide at the sight of Grantaire’s ass in his jeans.

When he walked back to the couch, Enjolras had a slight flush on his face, and Grantaire couldn’t help but flip open to and empty page and begin to sketch. The blonde seemed distracted enough, so he didn’t expect him to catch him looking over at him, periodically.

And for a while, neither of them glanced at each other at the same time. Grantaire was looking at the shadows on his throat, to add the finishing touches when their eyes met.

Grantaire’s mouth went dry, expecting Enjolras to be angry, but what the blond said was, “Are you drawing me?”

Grantaire couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t exactly speak, either. So he just nodded.

“Do you need me to stay still?” Enjolras said.

That was the furthest thing that Grantaire had expected him to say that he just stared in shock.

Enjolras continued through the silence, and said, “I’ve just been fidgeting a lot, and I didn’t know if you needed me to stop moving.”

Grantaire shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, I’m just finishing up, actually. So move all you want.”

Enjolras looked at him, taking in his pink cheeks and wide eyes. He smiled a little and said, “Alright. Will you show me when you’re done?”

Once again Grantaire lost his capacity to speak, and just nodded.

Enjolras turned back to his phone, and Grantaire kept staring for another moment or two, before returning to his sketch.

It only took a few more minutes for Grantaire to finish it completely, and Enjolras seemed to notice that Grantaire’s pencil wasn’t moving anymore so he turned to him, expectantly. Grantaire couldn’t refuse him, so he handed his sketchbook over to the blond god on his couch.

“It was just a quick drawing. It’s not really good or anything.”

But Enjolras was just staring at the page, eyebrows furrowed.

Grantaire didn’t really know what to make of that. Mostly he just wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Enjolras finally spoke and said, “Is this really how you see me?”

Grantaire didn’t even respond. He just sat there, not knowing what Enjolras wanted him to say.

Luckily, Enjolras didn’t require an answer. He wasn’t even looking at Grantaire. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the sketch since Grantaire handed him the book.

“Grantaire, this is amazing. It looks like I’m glowing.”

“You are,” Grantaire replied without even thinking. “I—I mean, the light behind you, it makes you look like you are.”

Enjolras finally turned to face Grantaire, and looked at him, with a look akin to wonder in his eyes, leaning just the slightest bit forward. Grantaire really didn’t know what to do with that. And without the sketchbook in his hands, that hair-pulling scenario was looking pretty promising.

Grantaire has no idea what would have happened if Courfeyrac hadn’t chosen that exact time to knock a very chipper rhythm on the door, thus ending the moment.

He got up to open the door, confused, and more than a little bit dazed. Courfeyrac doesn’t even notice. He just sweeps the shorter man into a hug, before going down the hall to the living room, to do the same to Enjolras, despite the man’s protestations.

“Enjy, I’m so sorry!” Grantaire snorted, and raised his eyebrows at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes over Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “I thought ‘Ferre took you home, and he thought I took you back to my place, and so it was just a little mix up. You’re alright, aren’t you? Did you have a nice time with R?”

All Enjolras said in response was, “R?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, it’s just a nickname of mine from back in school. It stuck for some reason.”

Enjolras smirked and said, “Nice pun.”

Grantaire stared at him, surprised, because no one else ever seemed to get the pun. A slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah, thanks.”

Courfeyrac looked between them, suspicious and plotting. And then he glanced down and saw Grantaire’s sketchbook open to the drawing of Enjolras on the coffee table, and grinned.

“So, boys! Time to start cleaning!” Courfeyrac grabbed both of their arms, and said, “I’ll take the living room and kitchen, and you two can work on R’s room!”

“Courf, no one was in my room. It’s fine!”

“No no, my good men! I insist!” Courfeyrac said, shoving both of them through Grantaire’s bedroom door, closing it behind them. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Enjolras and Grantaire look at each other, eyebrows raised. Enjolras looking more teasing, whereas Grantaire looked light a deer in headlights. He went to open the door to let them out, but Enjolras grabbed his wrist, and then turned the lock.

This was the last thing Grantaire expected from the blond. In fact, he’d expected Enjolras to be ready to break the door down using Grantaire as a battering ram, not locking it with that predatory look in his eyes, saying, “I think we have some work to do in here.”

“Oh?” Grantaire says. And his voice did not crack. Not at all.

“Yes, I do think so.”

“You and your work…” Grantaire managed to get out, with a weak laugh.

The blond said, “Yes, but the thing about me and my work, _R_ , is that I am very, very thorough in getting it finished.”

Grantaire’s eyes go wide, and he suddenly has way too much saliva in his mouth. He gulps is down and says, “Is that so, Apollo?”

Enjolras quirked his eyebrow at the nickname, but didn’t complain. Instead, he just walked right up to him and said, “Yes,” before pressing his lips hard against Grantaire’s and pushing him back towards the bed.

And yes, he was indeed, very thorough.


End file.
